


Something Stupid

by reas_of_sunshine



Category: Disney Duck Universe, DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Awkward Dates, Banter, Complicated Relationships, Confusion, Established Relationship, F/M, Feelings, Fluff, One Shot, Romance, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 13:38:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13682808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reas_of_sunshine/pseuds/reas_of_sunshine
Summary: Magica and Gladstone have always had a relationship that could only be described as confusing and complicated. So when fate, or maybe something more than that, pulls them together on the most romantic day of the year......perhaps all that confusion can finally be cleared.





	Something Stupid

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day- these dumb ducks have ruined my life.
> 
> Title is shared with a Frank Sinatra song, which is very fitting for these dorks and this fic.
> 
> I find it criminal these two don't have many fics so here.
> 
> Enjoy.

She wasn’t sure the name of this hotel. She didn’t bother to remember.

There were two things Magica had on her mind right now, two simple questions and that was why and what.

Why was she here and what had brought her here?

Well, as for the what, that was quickly answered.

Waving eagerly and practically skipping in his step, a far-too-familiar stranger greeted her.

A far-too-familiar stranger who made her blood boil and her heart skip a beat.

She mentally scolded herself for that second part.

“M!” Gladstone leaned in, pecking each of her cheeks with a quick kiss and laughing when Magica gave him a perplexed look. “What? You’re Italian, right? That’s a thing you guys do,”

“Well, yes,” Magica scoffed. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

A chortle escaped him, and he draped an arm around her shoulders, leading her past the hotel lobby. She hadn’t a clue of what he was up to, but he was talking a mile a minute and she couldn’t keep up with a single second of it.

The bright lights of Macaw were blinding her and the chatter of everyone around was bit of a distraction and Gladstone had no business looking so good—

“What is it you brought me out here for?” Magica blurted out, interrupting the gander’s rant.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he replied.

She frowned, pulling out his note from her pocket. “All you wrote was that you wanted to see me today,”

“And you came!” he beamed. “I didn’t actually think you would,”

“Consider yourself lucky,” Magica snapped. “But I don’t know why you needed me at— at a tourist trap,”

Gladstone smiled, earnestly and truly. “Oh, I know you’re all dark and gloomy, boo,” He ignored her groan at the nickname. “But you couldn’t have forgotten what day today is.”

“The fourteenth of February,” she replied.

And then she groaned even louder when he grinned at her.

“ _No_ ,”

“ _Yes,_ ” Gladstone grinned. “I knew you wouldn’t be busy today.”

Magica put her hands on her hips. “Really?” she challenged. “How would you know?”

He paused, arching an eyebrow at her. “Did you have plans?”

“Maybe. You don’t know that,” she argued. “But now that I’m stuck here, I have no choice but to spend the day with you, it seems.”

Gladstone smiled. “Okay,” he said softly. “So that’s a yes.”

He took her hand and she let it hang limp.

“Don’t gimme that face,”

“I will give you whatever face I want,” she jousted, half serious and half teasing.

And she was only a little disheartened to realize he wasn’t going to argue back.

Instead, he led her through the winding, maze-like halls of the hotel, taking her past the lobby and through what seemed like a small array of stores that didn’t exactly capture her attention. Too bright, too flashy, too much. But well, for Gladstone…

“You need to change,” he mused, gesturing to her frumpy black dress.

“Why?” Magica asked.

“C’mon,” he said, with a playful eye roll while gently nudging her towards one of the many shops. “You look like you’re celebrating the death of love. Put on something pink or red, for crying out loud.”

“I don’t do pink,” Magica scoffed.

She couldn’t help but pout, and realized there was no fighting the gander’s insistent pull on her arm.

The dress shop he dragged her into was brightly lit and exquisite, a flurry of tailors speaking in accents all rushing forward the second they stepped in, and Gladstone flashed a shiny black card, laughing about how he just so happened to win some sort of premium membership.

And then, he looked at the witch and winked. “You’ll thank me for this,” he assured.

She doubted that, but had no time to fire back a comeback before she was handed over to a pair of stylists, twin swans, speaking in rapid French.

Gladstone was dragged to the other end of the shop and it was then that Magica realized this would most likely be the longest — and most memorable — day of her life.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

“This is absolutely ridiculous,” Magica huffed, turning away from her reflection once it was finally all over and done with.

“Oh, but _madame_ ,” One stylist held her in place, a gentle grip on her arm. “Let us fix your hair and then your love will simply be blown away from how lovely you look,”

“He’s not my love,” was all Magica could mumble before the other stylist stepped forward, gently parting the frizzy ebony locks. While the stylist worked on brushing and fluffing and other nonsense, the witch wondered how many ways she could hex Gladstone for getting her into this mess.

Ugh.

Valentine’s Day.

Commercialized love.

Pure nonsense.

He had invited her to make her suffer through this day, to confuse her and dress her up and—

—and make her wonder. After all, she was a bit curious as to why he was doing all this. And why she hadn’t just cursed him and turned around.

“ _Voila_ ,” the stylists trilled in unison. “You did say to keep it simple,”

Magica hesitantly looked at herself in the mirror and … she didn’t look as horrible as she thought. Her hair was tied in a loose bun, a dark magenta ribbon holding her black locks in place. The shimmering ruby dress flowed around her, her ebony heels just barely peeking out from underneath.

There wasn’t much of a change.

“Wow,” a voice spoke up.

The stylists giggled and rushed off, leaving Magica not exactly alone.

She turned around, noticing Gladstone standing in front of her— almost fittingly dressed in a pink blazer, with a casual white button down shirt underneath— smiling that relaxed grin of his and stepping forward to drink in her appearance.

“You look breathtaking,” he murmured, taking her hands into his and kissing them.

Magica managed a tiny, curt smile and gave a mock curtsy. If she was dressed elegantly, may as well act the part. “Why thank you, dah-ling,” she replied. “I still don’t see the whole fuss about this, though.”

He rolled his eyes playfully. “You will soon enough,”

He pulled her in, still so blissfully awestruck with how she looked, and gently pressed his lips to her in a chaste kiss that was far too quick for her liking.

They were doing this.

They were really doing this, and that kiss was just a test, an experiment.

“I—” Magica stammered for a moment before trailing off.

“C’mon, boo,” Gladstone grinned, dragging her away so they could leave the store and begin with their evening.

She huffed. “You know I despise that nickname,”

“All the more reason to keep using it,” he retorted. “Now, follow my lead and keep that frown upside down,” He playfully poked at her cheek, causing her to splutter for a moment. “Heh. Gorgeous and adorable. I got the whole package,”

Magica turned away from him slightly, so he wouldn’t notice her cheeks slowly matching the same shade of her new dress. “Let’s just get this day over with,” she sighed.

Gladstone gave a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

She squeezed his hand gently and let him lead her through the lavish plaza.

“You know,” she mused. “I could have shapeshifted something nice, if you really insisted. You didn’t have to spoil me,”

“Oh, M, honey,” Again, with the nicknames. It was always nicknames with him. She wasn’t sure if she found them amusing or annoying. “I didn’t pay a penny for that and you know it. Now, quit your sourpuss attitude and enjoy spending Valentine’s Day with the luckiest duck in the world.”

Magica opened her mouth to protest but it closed when a kiss was placed on her cheek.

She could only mumble a “Fine, you win,” before succumbing to that silly goose’s charm and kindness.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

It seems that there was more than just charm and kindness awaiting Magica. There was laughter and smiles, which was the background noise to winnings — fueled by both sheer luck and perhaps just a hint of magic — and dancing.

She never pegged him to be a dancer, but as it turned out, Gladstone had some rather smooth moves.

But the romance, the so-called meaning of the night hadn’t really set in for Magica yet.

Well, but of course she found it comforting to hold Gladstone’s hand during poker, giving him that knowing look, or playfully kissing his knuckles before he threw the dice. She relished in the looks others gave them, strangers wishing they were them or wishing the best for them, either or. And how he held her close, spun her around, smiled at her and complimented that she was quite magical on the dancefloor.

She was falling into all of it.

Not falling in love. No, she would never.

The word romance, the aura of it, seemed to not quite sink in for her yet.

Not even now, as they sat surrounded by candlelight.

Dinner. On Valentine’s Day.

With him.

Magica was positive she was going mad at this rate. Or maybe Gladstone was the one who was losing it.

Maybe they both were.

And perhaps, as she held his hand, waiting for their dessert, she was okay with that.

“You never did tell me why you _really_ wanted me,” Magica spoke up.

“And yet you’re going along with it,” Gladstone practically trilled.

She rolled her eyes. “You know why,”

He squeezed her hand. “I know,” His voice was soft, almost bittersweet.

He did know. So did she.

There were a thousand things both of them wanted to say. Words that kept bubbling up to the surface, only to be smothered by more flashy things — both literally and metaphorically — and sweet gestures. Not that they weren’t appreciated…

...but they were diverting from the point.

They could have brought it up any time.

In between the games and slots.

As they danced.

Now, as soft music played and while they were in a room full of people, it felt like it was just them.

But they didn’t.

“Sir, ma’am, your dessert,” a short, dapperly dressed penguin piped up as he placed a plate in between the two of them.

“Oh, I don’t care much for chocolate,” Magica confessed.

“You don’t like pink and you don’t like chocolate,” Gladstone declared. “I’ve fallen in love with such a strange woman,” He waved his fork with a small flourish, stabbing at the small sugar-covered confectionery. “Honestly, it’s a good thing you’re so amazing. At least you have that going for you,”

Magica just smiled at him, his words not really sinking in until a few moments later.

And then she felt herself, biting down on her bottom lip, mulling over the statement, her brain playing that one bit on repeat.

_In love with._

This sweet, charming gander was _in love with_ her. He thought she was amazing and gorgeous and— and she was just a trickster, a swindler, a mischievous maiden with too much magic on her hands and maybe a bit of madness in her mind. And he was _in love with_ her.

If he had meant what he said, and that wasn’t just a slip of his tongue…

...it was she who felt like the luckiest duck in the world.

“Mr. Gander, anything else for you and the missus?” the waiter asked, making it aware to the lovers that yes, he was still there.

“I’m not—” Magica blurted out, glancing at Gladstone, who could only chuckle at the server’s assumption.

“No thanks, Jean Ralphio,” he said. “The check will be fine,”

The waiter scoffed. “Sir, you insult us! The meal is complimentary, first twenty-five reservations get absolutely free service,”

“Well! Isn’t today my lucky day,” Gladstone replied, with a knowing wink to Magica.

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes at his cheekiness.

“So,” She folded her hands and rested them on the table, watching the waiter leave. “What’s next?”

Gladstone poked at the small chocolate cake, and shrugged. “Depends,” he admitted. “It’s getting kind of late but the city of Macaw doesn’t exactly sleep.”

Magica nodded, almost absentmindedly.

“We’re gonna have to take our winnings to up my room, though. Casino won’t hold ‘em all night,” he said. “So we’ll make a pit stop there, maybe relax for a second. I think all that dancing wore you out,” He gave her a look, gentle and sweet but… a smidgen concerned.

Or maybe she was seeing things.

“You do know how to cut a rug,” she mused.

“ _Grazie, signora_ —”

“Don’t even try it,”

“What?” Gladstone chuckled.

Magica gave him a playful, gentle kick in the shin, before being unable to hold back her smirk.

He was doing something to her. With his charm. His wit. His everything. She wasn’t sure of what, but she had a feeling that… perhaps stopping it wouldn’t be wise. She just reached out, taking his free hand and weaving their fingers together again.

Holding onto Gladstone helped her stay grounded, kept those spinning things in place if only for a moment.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

“Well, winnings are safe and the night is young,” Gladstone said, standing in the doorway of his room, leaning against the frame and crossing his arms over his chest. “What’s next?”

Magica had stood in the hall, still waiting…

...waiting for what, she wondered.

A sign? Someone to tell her what to do, what to say? All of the above?

“You know,” Magica murmured, finding herself almost gravitating towards him.

The lights in the hall were dimmed down. The hour was late. She had, in fact, lost track of time since she had arrived.

Gladstone hummed softly, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Thank you,” she blurted out, dodging her gaze away from him. “For everything. It’s been fun,”

He caught the lingering in her voice. He knew her better than she would have liked to admit. “But?”

Magica brushed a loose lock of hair from her face, another hopeless split end. He could dress her up in the silks and ribbons, take her to all the fancy dinners and spoil her, but…

...but he still gave her the same soft and amused look, the one he had when she first showed.

She liked to think it was a look he saved just for her.

“But nothing,” she added. “I just—”

She breathed deep. What was she doing? Was she being shy? Had she somehow become bashful? No. She was Magica deSpell. She was bold, she was fierce, she was out there, she was absolutely and positively mad—

—she was going to smack that stupid grin off his face if he kept smiling like that, because that damned smile was making her heart rate go unnaturally fast.

What had he done to her?

She didn’t question it.

Instead, Magica found herself only inches from him, and she closed the gap by leaning up, standing a little taller and gently kissing Gladstone.

A soft, surprised murmur escaped him, and he smiled in the kiss.

Always smiling.

Always sweet.

It was too much for her to take, and yet, at the same time, she hadn’t once felt sated of him.

The kiss quickly escalated, going up many new levels, from soft to hesitant and now?

Now Gladstone leaned in, a hand on the small of her back, Magica’s arms thrown around his neck, and if anyone were to walk down the hotel hall in that moment, they would have quite a sight to see.

She gasped for air, fumbling to close the door as they stumbled further inside the room. She just now noticed the room number was 214, and Magica had an inkling he had set that one up on purpose. Or maybe it was his stupidly serendipitous luck. Either way, it was amusing — almost ridiculous — at how romantic, how sweet Gladstone had been to her today.

This day, where she would usually curse and hex lovers, and spend the evening on her stuffy couch and drinking cheap wine…

...this time, _she_ was a lover.

With moonlight spilling in from the window, as the spotlight while she kissed Gladstone with all her might, all her soul, all her heart and all her breath, Magica suddenly realized why this day was so important to lovers.

Gladstone’s grip on her was firm but also incredibly cautious.

One arm was wrapped around her waist, and the other hand was gently tracing under her chin as he drew gentle kisses from her.

One, two, three— she was getting dizzy from the desire.

And maybe the lack of breath. Perhaps a bit of both.

She didn’t quite care.

“Magica,” The first time he had said her actual name all night. She looked up at him, and realized they were against the bed, his back to it and she was practically pushing him— _oh_.

“Well,” She felt a lump form in her throat and she kicked off her heels. “Tonight was lovely,”

“And?” He furrowed his brow at her, the arm around her waist staying in place. He made no moves, nothing for or against.

Magica pushed his pink suit jacket off of his body, letting it fall to the ivory carpet of the room.

“And I don’t see why it has to end just yet,” she whispered.

The arm around her waist snaked up, teasing at the zipper of her dress. Gladstone looked at her sincerely, all his sly nature and charisma on pause for now. “Okay?” he asked, his voice low and gentle, much like his touch, his demeanor…

...like all of his actions tonight.

“Okay,” Magica mumbled, before diving back in, craving more of him, and pulling him in for a kiss.

They fumbled and turned around, a clumsy spin, before falling back on the bed, Gladstone hovering over his love. There were slow, lingering touches and movements. A bit hesitant, for fear of seeming klutzy or desperate but amidst their coming up for air, there was a moment where the witch and the gander found themselves looking into each other’s eyes.

Dark brown to the point of black, and bright green.

Light and dark.

Gladstone cupped Magica’s face, halting on the kissing and taking a moment to observe his love.

As she did the same with him. Her arms stayed looped around his neck, holding him in place and she took in his smile, his dimples, his slightly too-big beak and his bright eyes and—

“You said you love me,” she blurted out. “Well, sort of.”

This was it. This was the pin that would pop the balloon.

The beginning of the end.

The answer to every question, the elephant in the room, the _why_.

“Yeah,” he affirmed. “At dinner. I know.”

“I—” She felt the words get tangled in her throat, like they were fighting to get out. “Gladstone,”

She said his name with such tenderness.

“I love you, Magica,” he assured. “I do. That’s why I did all this. Why I invited you, because,” He trailed off, noticing the look on her face.

She was taking it in.

They were treading water, the both of them. They were so incredibly, painfully close to the point...

They had run into each other before, by happenstance. They had taken advantage of such run-ins, so to speak. This wasn’t their first time tangled up, to put it simply. But after too many run-ins, after too many conversations of the past, of apologies and letting bygones be bygones…

...this was where they ended up.

“You love me,” she echoed. “Not because I’m a shadow of who you used to love?”

“Matilda,” he sighed.

The tension was shattered with all the gracefulness of a brick going through a window.

Magica felt almost ashamed as she sheepishly nodded.

“I don’t love her, not anymore,” Gladstone declared. Their serious talk was causing their sensual moment to fade but this was something that had to be addressed. “It consumed me for a while, yeah. I was heartbroken over her. But I kept running into you. We kept seeing each other, a-and… I dunno, call me crazy but I guess it’s fate or something. I’ve grown really, really fond of you. And you’re what I want. Truth be told, Magica,” The way he said her name, now _that_ was almost like a spell. “I don’t even think about that incident anymore. I just see you, and that’s all I want.”

Magica stammered, feeling her face go hot and her eyes brim with tears when he took her hand, placing it over his heart.

If she could see it in the flesh, she could have sworn his heart had hints of gold in it.

Her breathing hitched, the strap of her dress fell off one shoulder, her hair was coming undone and she gently gripped at the fluff on his chest.

“I love you too,” she murmured.

She had no speech, no grandeur like he did. No gushing declaration, no beaming pride.

Just simplicity.

Just her heart, soul and every emotion she had spilling out with every word she said.

It was the truth. He was a contributing factor of her madness, but a different kind of madness. Not the type that drove her to do schemes and cast spells, but the type of madness that made her question everything she thought she knew.

And what she knew now was that her feelings were so strong, so vulnerable…

...and that she was scared. But happy. Somehow.

 _That_ was what seemed to be so mad about it all.

“I love you, Gladstone,” she repeated, leaning in to press her forehead against his. Close enough but not quite. “I… I truly do, I—”

He draped a finger over her lips, and looked at her fondly.

Magica fell into stammers and the words still tangling up and, well… she found herself losing the words and replacing them with actions. With soft, tender touches, and the kisses that caused her head to spin, and made him melt against her.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, boo,” he mumbled amidst the kisses, smiling against her lips.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she said, with a happy little sigh— pondering for a second. Until she smirked and tapped the edge of his beak with a single finger. “You silly goose.”

**Author's Note:**

> And y'all know what happened after that. *wink wonk*
> 
> Comments are always appreciated! c:
> 
> ~rea


End file.
